


Loved and Protected

by shimere277



Category: Drake's Venture (1980)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 23:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimere277/pseuds/shimere277
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis Drake asks Doctor Dee's help to change fate, but the only way to succeed is over a dead body on a Patagonian shore.  Not what you expect...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loved and Protected

            ‘Tis cold here in the farthest reaches of Patagonia, and my blood runs cold – but yet I flush with heat anon, for just as Doctor Dee promised, my companion for this evening is naught but Thomas Doughtie.  He looks pale and drawn in the light of the sole candle – and why should he not?  For the one man who should most love and protect him seeks his destruction.  And yet he is much as I remember him, and my heart doth ache with the memory.  It steels me for the task before me, a resolve I must harden myself to reach.  I must set myself upon the murder of no less a man than Captain General Francis Drake.

            I laugh, and Thomas looks at me quizzically, for in the gloom of the night and our souls, he sees no cause for mirth.  I laugh, but at my own predicament.  Is my task murder – or some strange form of suicide?  For I am Francis Drake.

========================================================================

I.  Perhaps the true beginning of the story is upon one Irish morn as we took breakfast.  Thomas and I were recent acquaintances; I carried an introduction from Admiral Wynter that I might be of use to the cause whilst I sojourned there.  Wynter did not make mention of the fact that I had need to stay fast away from England with my hold full of Spanish gold.  “Doughtie is a good man,” he said, “with an old family name.  He will not begrudge me this.”

            Yet I fancied ‘twas more than a favor for an old family friend which led to my profitable introduction to Essex.  Thomas and I struck an instant friendship.  In less than a fortnight, ‘twas as though we had known each other for years.

            I knew him well enough to know that his appetite was hearty, well enough to know that he lied when he looked up abruptly from his porridge, declaiming his hunger and leaving quickly from the repast.  I liked it not, liked not that there be any falseness or secrets betwixt us.  But when I went to confront him, he was nowhere to be found.

            I saw him not at the docks that day, nor at sup that evening.  I questioned Broughton, who shrugged.  “Perhaps a fancy for a woman.”  But _that_ Thomas surely would have confided.  The thought, however, provoked an inexplicable rage.  I wanted not to share his time with some slattern.

            At dusk, I decided to act.  I rounded up my man pirates, good solid men not afraid of rough work, and we made the proper inquiries – inquires that a man like Broughton could ne’er make.  ‘Twas not long before a local innkeeper told us of a small recruitment of the local blackguards for an unknown assignment, less than an hour before we understood that the one who sought them was of Leicester’s fee.  Most curious.

            Before midnight, we found Thomas, beaten near an inch of his life and trussed more securely than tonight’s supper bird.   “Take him out of here,” I commanded, but there was a commotion on the stair.  Several local thugs of the worst sort met us at the door, blustering with confidence until they realized that they faced not the gentleman soldiers of England, but the fists of the Neles Little and Great and Diego the Cimarron, the toughest pieces of tack the world had to offer.

            Essex was, as could be expected, most disconcerted at this turn of events.  “Art thou certain ‘twas Leicester?” he asked, over and over.  And then, “Aye, for I know him to be my true enemy.  Last autumn I did say my quarrel with him would be laid to rest, but only for the sake of Lord Burghley.  I fear that his rancor towards Thomas ended not.”

            It did not sit right.  Thomas had told me of the incident, in which he sacrificed his honor to make peace between these lords.  “’Twas worth the trouble,” he had said, “for Lord Burghley knoweth the truth, and doth hold me in his regard.”  But why should Leicester go out of his way to so severely punish a gentleman already disgraced?  ‘Twould not be worth the risk.

            An Irish doctor was called for, which also set my nerves on edge, and so I stayed whilst he cleaned and dressed Thomas’ wounds.  “I shall sit watch tonight,” I announced, “for I think there be more to this trouble than we have yet seen.”

            “Thinkest thou that my men cannot guard my retainer in mine own house?” said Essex peevishly, but a strong stare from me sent him into retreat.

            I settled into my chair.  Thomas lay in naught but his sleepshirt, his skin white in the moonlight, but dusky purple flowers bloomed thereon.  My fury rose.  That anyone should do this to my friend, my heart’s companion – I must avenge him.  He moaned pitifully in his sleep.  The sound sent shivers down my spine, and it occurred to me how frail he was, how helpless now, as compared to the fierce warrior that I knew him to be.  How helpless, and how beautiful.  My loins ached.  ‘Twas not the first time such thinking had possessed me, but it was the sort of thinking I dismissed – unless I were at sea with a willing cabin boy to hand.  But most lusts passed as fancies do.  This was different, I now knew it so.  I had almost lost him.

            Before I could stop myself, my lips brushed his.

            I had thought him fast asleep, but he stirred.  “Francis,” he murmured, “where are we?”

            “Home, in Milord Essex’s manse,” I answered.  He sat up slightly, surprised, then groaned and returned to his back.

            “Thou didst rescue me?”

            “Aye,” I said, not concealing my pride.  “I and my men.”

            He closed his eyes, looking pale and drawn.  “’Twas Leicester.”

            “Aye.”  At his look of surprise, I explained, “Little is secret in the bars of Dublin.”

            “And ‘twas thou that didst protect me.  Thou, and not Essex.”  There was ‘pon his face a most pitiable expression.  “Forgive me, Francis Drake.”

            “Forgive?” I said, surprised.  “But Thomas, what hast thou done to need of me forgiveness?”

            He shook his head with a slight smile, then a wince at what I could only presume was his throbbing head.  “Since scarce out of my boyhood, I have been the plaything of some lord or another.  A taste grew in me for it, a taste for mastery.  Yet I am no fool, and could easily see that these men of noble blood lacked the noble hearts to match – for I was more possessed of courage and intellect than they.”  It took a moment for what he said to register.  I felt my heart leap into my mouth.

            “When first I saw thee, Francis, I did recognize a strength of spirit that far outstripped the likes of them, but mine own proud heart ‘twould only stoop to treating thee, a man of common blood, as equal.  Now I see the truth.  Mine own pride hath kept me from true happiness, for thou art the man that should master me, Francis Drake, thou and no other.”

            “Aye, Thomas Doughtie, thou art mine,” I said, feeling the fire of it in my veins.  “Mine, and soon thou shalt give me service.  But tonight, rest thee, rest and be well.”

            “As thou wilt, my lord,” he said, but an instant later he started, squeezing my hand.  “But there is that you must know.  The porridge was poisoned.  It tasted of certain herbs that I have knowledge of.”

            “Poisoned?  Leicester?”

            “Nay,” he whispered, his head sinking back on the pillow, exhausted.  “Milady Lettice.”

            I sat awake with him that night, certain now that the enemy was indeed within, and enemy fair of form but foul of spirit.  Lettice!  Then Thomas had been right about her dealings with Leicester – and while a man would not stoop to destroy a troublesome retainer, a wife, one made miserable by the truth hidden from the world, but not from the eyes of her husbandman – might well seek to eradicate the man who hath sullied her name.

            And Thomas had known, and Leicester would stoop to destroy one who could in turn destroy his mistress.  What bitter, treacherous dealings!  My heart longed for the open ocean.

            But it was to be some time before I again saw the sea.  In that space, the vixen ‘twas sent to the tower, earning us the eternal enmity of Leicester.  In that space were many nights of passion when Thomas did indeed show me his most able service.  In that space were nights of whispered confidences and days spent dreaming of his eyes.

            In that space was Rathlin, and the knowledge that we could serve Essex, a coward, butchering lord no more.

            “I shall argue thy cause in London,” Thomas said at the docks, “when I have the ear of greatness.”

            But I wondered how profitable his argument with Lord Leicester set against it, e’en with the support of good Lord Burghley and his new post with Christopher Hatton.  Still, ‘twas a fine dream.  More certain was I that we should again be together – but for now, I had enough of city life.  I needed to feel the sea beneath my feet.

            Thomas waved goodbye as we set sail.  I could see him receding in the distance, his shoulders drooping slightly, and thought that his sadness at my departure far exceeded my wife’s.  Also, that unlike my wife, I would look forward to returning to him.

==================================================================================

II.  But I returned just in time for his funeral.

            His beauty was preserved in death.  Indeed, as they lay out the corpse, he seemed an alabaster statue.  He might rise any minute, move and speak again, were but the breath of life to return to him.  There were no signs of injury, disturbance.  Indeed, it was not a natural death.

            I was in shock, a man of wood.  I could not think or speak for my grief.  Then I caught a glimpse of Robert Dudley’s face, a hint of satisfaction beneath the pious solemnity, and all my grief turned to unspeakable rage.  I lay my hand upon the pommel of my sword.

            In that instant, I felt another hand, gentle, rest upon my arm.  ‘Twas Doctor Dee.  It was as if he had seen what was in my mind and heart.  “Softly, Francis Drake,” he whispered.  “We have much of import of which to speak, and you cannot serve England by rotting in a common gaol.”

            I followed him from the chapel, my eyes turning once more to linger upon the still form of my Thomas as I left.  “He was thy friend,” Dee said, and I nodded.  “Thy leman.”  I pulled away from him, startled.  The first was common knowledge; the second, something we had concealed with much care.  Doctor Dee smiled, shaking his head.  “My knowledge comes from the angels.  Naught can be hid from their eyes.”    

            Without thinking, I crossed myself.

            “There are men whose fate it is to change history,” said Dee.  “Men whose actions alter the course of worlds. You are such a man.”

            I looked at Dee suspiciously.  Of course ‘twas true, but the acknowledgement of such was usually a form of flattery, usually preceding the asking of some great boon.

            Dee looked through me, his eyes sparkling with some hidden amusement.  “Aye, Drake, there is much to ask – much to demand – of you.  For this England is doomed, shall fall under the yoke of the Spaniard in less than a decade.  And then there will be Inquisition, and the Thames run red with blood, trial and guilt and death for centuries.”

            “Speak not such words of treason!” I whispered, shocked.

            “No treason, Drake, but prophecy.  And I see yet another world, a world where my Britannia comes to fruit and turns rotten on the tree.  An empire founded on blood – war, piracy and a terrible, terrible sacrifice.  An empire that spreads across the globe until her very children turn against her tyranny.”

            Dee had always seemed a little mad to me.  Now he was trying my patience.  I wanted to return to my plans for revenge ‘gainst the Earl of Leicester.

            “I would not have it so, Drake,” he continued.  “I would have an empire built on justice, to last a thousand years.  An empire built on strength – and love.  You are the man to do it.”

            Flattery again, since I am called upon to do the impossible.  To build an empire – that I was sure I could accomplish.  But love?  Naught was left to me save hatred.

            “Would you have him back?  Doughtie, that is?”

            I stared at Dee for a moment, not really understanding.  “Back?  How?”  I crossed myself again.  “Some witchery?”  Then I was gripped by sore temptation.  Often had I thought ‘twould be worth bargaining with the devil to achieve my aims, such as the voyage I planned with Thomas to sack the ship of silver in the Perwe.  Only then did I realize that this dream was thwarted.  I might see the Pacific, but ne’er with Thomas at my side.  ‘Twas a bitter knowledge.  “Aye,” I said, without thinking.  “I would do anything to have him again.”

            Dee smiled mysteriously.  “Come into my sanctum,” he said, leading me out of the churchyard and into the shadows.

            The room was warm; there was no sign of candle nor of flame, but I could see clearly by agency of some mysterious glow.  Such marvels – treasures or obscenities, I know not.  Books of obscure words and diagrams, rocks and herbs, heathenish carvings crowded cabinets and shelves.  “Look here, Drake,” he said.  “Here.”

            He showed me a glass, a black stone polished to mirror surface.  “What do you see?”

            “Mine own reflection,” I said, irate.  “Perhaps I was a fool, and Dee was a madman.  But still – his reputation for conjury was known throughout the land.

            “Doughtie was my student,” he said.  “A most able scryer.  “Twas he that saw these marvels, including his own death.  He allowed it.”  I started again, this time drawing my sword full from its sheath.  Dee looked at me mildly, unfazed.  “He saw the paradox.  Without Leicester’s help, there was no way for you to encompass the world.  But the circumstances that would lead to your alliance with Leicester would lead you to the murder of your own heart.  For a third fate to exist, another path must be forged.  But you shall understand anon.  For now it is sufficient that your love for Thomas will lead you to leave this life forever, and take up the life of another man in a world undreamed of.”

            “I grow tired of these prophecies,” I said, shaking my sword at him.  “Where is Thomas?  Or what price shall I pay to have him back, if we need truck with the devil himself?”

            “No devils, but angels,” Dee chided.  “And ‘twas the price I was stating.  But soft, my divine visitors arrive.”

            The glow in the room grew stronger.  Then I was surrounded by columns of living light.  They burned brightly, but were cold to the touch.  Far warmer was the darkness of the mirror, as it grew until it surrounded me.  Then I knew no more.

=========================================================================================

III.  I found myself on a cold, unfamiliar shore.  With the instincts of an explorer who had known many lands, I felt strange eyes upon me, and I looked into the curious faces of a band of savages.

            I scrambled to my feet.  They tensed but moved not towards me.  One of them smiled and gestured towards my hat.  ‘Twas then I realized that I was still in formal attire, dressed for funeral, not adventure.  I tossed the hat lightly towards him.

            The savages whooped and howled, then ran off laughing, into the distance.  I was glad to avoid the trouble.  Never have I though ill of men for their color, nor for being so misfortunate that the word of Our Lord hath not reached their ears.  And ‘twere more holy and profitable to befriend them than to have them die unchristened.

            I walked alone, following the coastline.  It was a desolate, beautiful place.  From the shore, I could see an isle that did seem to roil at the surface, black waves undulating like some forbidden sea.  Then mine eyes came clear and I saw that the isle was covered with living things, a manner of comical bird which swam and did not fly.  I laughed.  There was no end to the world’s wonders.

            And then I heard voices – English voices – in the scrubby, distant brush.  “Will he do it?” asked one.

            “Aye,” said another, and I was sore amazed, for it was the voice of Great Nele the Dane, “in the years I have known Captain Drake, once he sets upon a course of action, there is no stopping of it.”

            “But to..to..” the other man’s voice dropped, “take the head of his closest friend in a land so far from home…can he truly have the heart of a man, and not some devil?”

            “It may be that this is the way he kills his heart.  It may be that he needs to.  Did we not all agree that Master Doughtie is a danger to the venture?”

            My legs gave way, and I sat heedlessly in the sand, the tide soaking my dress breeches.  Then I saw the movement of the scrub, and knew they would be soon in sight.  I scrambled to my feet, ready to take flight, but they first saw me.  “Captain General,” said the unknown man, clearly surprised.  “I thought you to be at the tents.”

            I could see the panic in his eyes, and knew he thought himself overheard.  He expected some dire reprisal.  Even Nele looked apprehensive.  For a brief moment I wondered what sort of man I had become, but the answer came unbidden: the sort of man who kills his closest friend to achieve his aims.  I felt a deep sickness mingled with the shock of this morning’s unexpected grief.  I had come from my lover’s funeral to put myself in the grave.

            I knew it; I understood Dee’s mysterious words.  This Drake had Leicester for an ally, but not Thomas.  Then I must slay me this Drake and take his life – and his Thomas – for mine own.

            I took a deep breath and strode forward.  “Is there no work to be done, that you can spend your time in idle prating?”  The two men nodded quickly and rushed away, down the beach, grateful to receive such a mild chiding.  I followed at a distance, careful not to be seen.

            The camp was well ordered, as I would expect it to be.  I observed from a distance.  There was one lone tent, guarded.  I knew Thomas was within.

            I spotted myself, surrounded by mariners.  Perhaps that was the greatest shock of all, seeing this man who was me, and yet not me.  And how different from mine was his life?  Were I to slay him now, could I keep the deception for the length of this voyage, nay, for the length of his life?

            I had thought to slay him and then to free Thomas, but now I saw that my necessity was the reverse.  I needed Thomas to help me play this “Captain General.”  He would cover when I did err; indeed, if he accepted me as Drake, there was little doubt that the others would follow.

            I slipped behind the lone tent, cutting through the canvas of the back flap with my sharpened sword.  Thomas jumped up from where he had been seated, his Bible (his family Bible – well I knew it, for ‘twas never far from him – the sight of it did make my heart leap in my chest) falling to the bare ground.  His eyes narrowed.  “And what is this?  Dost seek to deprive me of my meditations as well as my life?”

            “Softly, Thomas,” I warned, willing my voice not to tremble.  He was the very image of my Thomas, save his skin sun-darkened, and grown thin from the discomforts of his journey.  “I am not as I seem.”

            He smiled, and there was a slyness, a bitterness to it that ne’er did I see in mine own Thomas.  “And what is that?  A gentleman?”

            My face flushed at the insult.  Dire words had passed between them, words that could not be unspoken.  “I am not Francis Drake,” I said.

            “What?”

            “At least, I am not…him.”  I gestured towards the tent flap.

            I stepped to the side as he opened it.  His guards were alert upon the instant, but more interested that he should leave the tent than to think to look within it.  I could see his eyes follow the shoreline through the scattered tents to rest upon the Captain General, gesturing at the men who were busy building a scaffold.

            He looked back at me in alarm, then again across the beach.  He stepped inside the tent, crossing himself.  “Art thou a devil sent to tempt me?”

            “Perhaps,” said I, “or mayhap an angel sent to rescue thee.  See you that man?  I would slay him, then become him.  But I require thy help, Thomas Doughtie.  Do that, and I shall give you freedom.”  The word stuck in my throat.  Would he then be free of me?  In Ireland, Thomas had begged to be my slave, had served me with hand and tongue and the spreading of his sinewy thighs.  I could not breathe but for aching.  That man was dead – why had I ever left his bed?  And now I was here, with this feral creature, sore in need of taming.

            But…I would have the Perwe.  Dee had been right.  I never would have had leave to seek that adventure with the enmity of Leicester.  If Dee was right, greater stakes were at hand, greater than my wealth, or even my love.

            He shook his head.  “Convince me I should.  Begin at the beginning.”

==========================================================================

IV.       He was silent for a long time.  We sat for a while as the moon rose above the tent.  “You know, I married,” he said finally.

            “Thou hast a wife?”  My tongue was numb as I spoke it.  Too much shock, and the mind reels from its absurdity.

            “She is o’er a year in the grave,” he replied.  I felt giddy with relief, then a new stab of jealousy.  “In my fashion, I did love her.  But I never…lost that taste…” he trailed off.  “I tried to make my peace with it, and to sin no more.  Near impossible at court.”

            “And now, if I am to save thee, thou must speak.  I must know of thee and me – begin at the beginning.”

            “It begins much the same as thy story, save the lady was better behaved.  With no necessity of great rescue, we were friends, Francis.  Never was there occasion for more.  I would not have dared to suggest such a thing, nor would I have stooped…”

            “To take a commoner as Master.”

            “Aye,” he said quietly.  He looked up abruptly, meeting my eyes with defiance.  “Thinkest thou to master me?  I did not undergo this ordeal to be a slave to yet another Francis Drake.  Nay, I will go to my death first, and eternal peace in the arms of my Lord.”

            I could not help but smile at his insolence.  “I know thee, Thomas Doughtie.  Wouldst not rather go to bed in the arms of thy Master?”

            He flushed red; with anger or embarrassment I could not tell.  “Tell me more, Thomas,” I urged.  “Tell me of the matter of this quarrel betwixt thee and thy captain.”

            He spoke; I closed mine eyes to hide the inner turmoil.  The Captain General was not so far removed from me.  I could picture too well the events Thomas related, picture the reaction of this Drake, bad-tempered, paranoid, never having known Thomas in all his sweetness, probably – though it pained me to admit it – jealous.  Did I not feel the pang when I heard of Thomas’ wife?

            But I must be resolute.  Thomas would live or Drake would live.  It could not be both.  This man who had once been me had sealed his fate when he demanded death for Thomas Doughtie.  And Thomas would come around to my way of thinking.  I had the advantage of the Captain General in so many ways.  I knew what Thomas craved.

            In an instant, I had knocked him from his seat, rolling him onto his stomach and straddling him, holding him down with the strength of my thighs.  He was, at first, to startled to react.  Then I pulled aside his hose to have two fingers up his hole, seeking out his sweet spot.

             “Stop…” his voice choked off.  I had found it.  He gasped, then involuntarily spread his legs a little wider.  His thighs trembled.  “What are you…”

            He didn’t know.  Of course he didn’t know, since I had discovered how to make Thomas come in this fashion.  “Slattern,” I whispered.  “Whore.  Thou needest a cock for thy satisfaction.”

            In truth, near the opposite was true.  He needed to be brought to the edge before a cock could finish him off.  But take him like this enough, and he would believe it, come to worship that cock.  He wanted to worship that cock.  He was a true sodomite by nature.

            It was enough.  I took him.  He moaned loudly; I hoped the guards were fast asleep.  He was tight as a virgin, so he did not lie when he said he had renounced the sin.  Pity that – how could a man as lovely as Thomas Doughtie have spent these months at sea in the company of strapping mariners and remain unfucked?  I thought of him sleeping in Drake’s quarters, and saw the nature of the disaster.  To be a prick-tease ashore was one thing, but at sea?  I would not be denied.

            Drake was an idiot.  If he had wanted to damn his soul with a mortal sin, rape would have been a far sweeter crime than murder.  “Once thou didst love me, Thomas,” I whispered.

            He was tight as a virgin, and my cock was no small sidearm.  Also, he did like a bit of pain.  His body shook with pleasure as I took mine.

            After, when I released him, he pulled himself into a ball and wept.  “Aye, Francis.  I did love thee.  Why remind me now, when my life seems to be of so little worth to thee?”

            “Thy life is worth more than my soul, Thomas, or I would not have come for thee.  I know not of what deviltry Dee had use of to bring me here.  I care not.  Thou art mine, Thomas.”  My eyes fell upon his wrists, bruised where he had been roughly bound the day previous.  I thought back to that first night, to the bruises on his soft, white skin.  I thought to my outrage.  Now I understood it: someone else had marked my property.  “Who did thee such injury?”

            He looked down briefly at his wrists.  “Ned Bright.  Jhon Sarocold.  Some others, I remember not.”

            “I will see that they pay for it,” said I, “though they know not why.”

            Thomas looked at me strangely.  “Verily, thou dost hold me in some account.”

            “Dost doubt it so?”

            “Francis,” he said, his voice small, plaintive, “Francis, had I changed my thinking of the venture, had I thought perhaps I had not realized just how long and dangerous such a voyage could be, had I thought that perhaps we might instead go north…”

            “Thou wert afeared.  Didst thou tell him such?”

            “Of course not.”

            “But ‘twas true.”

            Thomas glared at me.

            “Thomas Doughtie, I would have stopped thy mouth with kisses, the way I did when thou didst try to dissuade me from my voyage to Crete.”

            “And I would have been right, nonetheless,” he said.  “You ne’er saw me – that is, him – again alive.”

            I was silent for a space.  “Would you have me turn the fleet north, forsaking Magellan?”

            “Nay.  Doctor Dee did say that ‘twas thy destiny to encompass the globe.”

            “That is folly.”

            “Is it?  Thou art here before me.”

            It was impossible to beat Thomas in an argument.  It was, however, possible to quiet him with less permanent measures that the Captain General’s.  I grabbed him by the hair.  “Serve me in the Italian fashion,” I demanded.  “I believe it not for one second when thou dost protest to kneel only before the Queen.”

            Thomas laughed.  “I shall leave that honor to Sir Christopher.  The Queen has a man’s heart, and a man’s will, but, God save her, not all of his appendages.”

=======================================================================================

V. No one questioned me as I entered my own tent at dawn.  Before me, the Captain General slept.  I knew it to be a light sleep.  The act was best done quickly.  I had killed men before – but always in clean combat.  I was no murderer to kill a man in his sleep.

            Or was I?  This Drake could kill Thomas in good conscience.  ‘Tho, perhaps…yes, I doubted.  Methinks this would lay upon him heavier and heavier as the years did pass.  What happiness can a man have who hath slain his own heart, e’en hath he all the gold in the world?

            I slipped a pillow over his face and held tightly.  He roused; we struggled.  He fought for his life, I for my Thomas.  I told myself that he was newly shriven.  His soul would go straight to heaven.  Would he have e’er known peace had this day seen its bloody terminal?

            I tumbled the corpse behind the makeshift bed.  Later, I would think of a means of disposal.  I prepared myself for the day ahead, taking my toilet, dressing in his clothes.  They fit me perfectly – as one might expect.  His tastes were a little more opulent than mine – or perhaps he had gotten used to life at court.  Perfumes, fine furniture, rich velvets – I had thought about these things.  Thomas had made me think about them.

            I sat.  The hands which had snuffed out my own life shook, despite themselves.  Then I laughed.  The whole thing seemed some absurd nightmare, and I would awake again upon the Falcon, coming into _Plymouth_ harbor with Thomas there to greet me.

            Behind me, the corpse grew colder.  At least he would not wake into a nightmare tomorrow, the nightmare of knowing he had killed the only man he had ever loved.

            I had had enough of such melancholy thoughts.  I must take action, and soon.  In the Captain general’s cloak and doublet, I stumbled from the tent.

            I was greeted by my nephew, John.  “Uncle?  You look not well.”

            “Is’t so obvious, John?  My sleep was sore troubled.”

            Some of my men had overheard us.  I saw their eyes upon me, wary, hopeful.  This thing weighed upon them.  They were frightened.

            “Where is Fletcher?” I asked.  “I would speak with him.”

           

            “He swore his innocence to me,” said the preacher earnestly.  “At his last confession.  Why risk his eternal soul to change nothing?”

            I tried to look grave.  Thomas had said Fletcher was a fool – a sincere fool, but a fool nonetheless.  But there was nothing for it but to pretend to be convinced.  “I had terrible dreams.  They portended ill for the venture should we spill the blood of an innocent.”

            Fletcher nodded.  “God’s wrath will visit us.  All of us.”

            Of course, this pious sentiment did not extend to opposing the Captain General two days earlier, when he had asked for the vote on Thomas’ death.  The preacher was a coward as well as a hypocrite.  I marched from his tent.  “Step aside,” said I.  “I would see Doughtie.”

            Thomas was waiting for me.  “Is’t accomplished?” he asked.

            “Aye.”  Only then I saw that his beard was wet with tears.  “Thou didst truly love him.”

            “He believed I meant his death,” Thomas whispered.  “God save us.”

            “You will tell them that you repent of your insubordination, and submit to punishment.  I will tell them that there was no mutiny, and no need for an execution.  You will be lashed.”  Thomas looked up through his tears, his eyes burning with sudden outrage.

            “’Tis necessary, Thomas,” I continued.  “Would these rough men believe it of me that I would kiss thee and again be friends as though naught had passed betwixt us?”

            “I will not stand to be so humiliated.”

            “You will.  For in the crowd, I did see thy brother’s face.  Wouldst have him witness thy death?”

            Thomas blanched, sitting hard upon the bed, moaning softly.  “How could he have done it?  God’s wounds Francis, how could he have done such a thing?”

            “You will,” I said, sitting besides him.  “For I am thy Master, who doth hold thee in much account, and sore thou dost love me.”  His eyes met mine again, but with more petulance than anger.  “I shall deliver the blows myself,” I said, “so that thou shalt not suffer the indignity to be marked by other than a gentleman.”

            He broke into a wicked grin, understanding me – as he always did – better than I myself.  “And thou shalt not suffer the indignity of having me marked by other than thee.”

            “Aye.  Thou art mine, loved and protected by me.”

            “E’en against thyself?”

            “Aye, Thomas Doughtie.  Most especially that.”

           


End file.
